


Believe It Or Not

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: Drug Running, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kentucky Derby, pre-series AU flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal relates an unlikely tale to Mozzie about the time he and Peter were lost in Kentucky and being pursued by men trying to kill them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe It Or Not

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this story was watching episodes of "Justified" during the very long and cold past winter.
> 
> Many thanks to Treon for the beta.

     “Somebody needs to strangle that groundhog,” Neal thought sourly as he gazed out at his terrace already covered with ice and several inches of newly falling snow. It was nearly April, and he was fed up with winter and suffering a bit of cabin fever. He had a hard time concentrating on the cribbage game that he and Mozzie were engaged in at the moment.

      “Neal,” complained Mozzie, “are you even keeping your mind on the game?”

      “I’m bored out of my skull, Moz,” Neal sulked.

      “Well, there are a lot worse places where you could be marooned in the grip of winter, my friend,” answered Mozzie sagely. “Remember that time in Austria?”

      Neal remembered all too well having to hole up in a chalet for weeks after an avalanche had closed off the access roads to the Alpine resort. Snow was very pretty until it measured depths of three feet! However, he had the countess’s jewels to keep him warm until he and Mozzie could make their way down the mountain during the spring thaw.

     “I was afraid that you were going to try yodeling if we didn’t get out of there soon,” Mozzie quipped.

     “Yeah, well if the brandy and schnapps had run out, there was a really good chance of that,” laughed Neal.

     Neal’s face then took on a faraway look and a fond smile that piqued Mozzie’s interest.

     “What’s this about? What are you remembering?” Mozzie sensed that there was something interesting going on in Neal’s mind.

      “Oh, I’m just recalling a time back in Kentucky when I was stuck for awhile with Peter. I don’t think I ever told you about it, but it’s certainly memorable and definitely one for the books.”

      Mozzie put his fists under his chin in rapt attention as he looked at Neal. “Do tell!”

      “Well, it was just after you and I had teamed up in New York,” Neal began. “A few months into our partnership, you felt the esoteric need to seek out your inner karma in Tibet.”

      “It’s something that I do from time to time,” defended Mozzie. “It’s good for the soul. Maybe you should try it sometime since apparently you are too hyperactive for meaningful and fulfilling meditation that would keep you from getting bored. Meditation clears the mind so that one can focus.”

     Neal raised an ironic eyebrow and said, “Do you want to hear the story or not, Moz? Maybe you find it more entertaining to just point out all of my shortcomings?”

     “I’ll refrain, Scheherazade” said Mozzie, “although it will be hard.”

      “Anyway, back to my story…while you were away, I was ‘unfocused’ and ‘bored.’ It was a beautiful spring after a hard winter such as this one, and I needed to be out and about doing something. Then I hit on an ingenious idea. May is Kentucky Derby month down in Louisville, and I started thinking about all the pre-Derby festivities that go on down there. You know, like the parties and soirées where the wealthy thoroughbred owners attend in black tie and their wives in chiffon and jewels. So much was going to be ripe for the taking. I read up a little about that year’s field of horses and their owners. One was actually a sheik. So, I rented some formal attire and was off to the races!

      I talked my way into a small suite in Louisville’s best hotel where the elite were registered, and took a little nap until the evening. I thought a trip to the hotel’s elegant bar would afford me the opportunity to hobnob with a possible mark, but just as I stepped off the elevator, I caught sight of FBI Agent Peter Burke in the foyer talking to the front desk manager and waving a picture in his face. I just knew that it was my picture, but I couldn’t figure out how he had guessed that I would be there.”

 ********************

      Agent Peter Burke was a man on a mission. He wanted to apprehend the elusive Neal Caffrey so bad that he could taste it. The young hoodlum had flipped him the metaphorical bird once too often and he wanted payback in the worst way. He would hold onto that damn green lollypop until hell froze over if he had to. Caffrey might be brilliant, but Peter was smart and savvy, too. Any day now, Caffrey would get careless and slip up, and Peter intended to be there when that happened.

      Now he knew that Neal Caffrey was in Louisville because he had gotten a tip from a vigilant airport official at LaGuardia in New York. Apparently, some people actually paid attention to the alerts that the FBI sent out to points of entry and exit to and from the city. Peter had boarded a plane the same day, and, on a hunch, had decided to choose the most chic and most expensive hotel in the city to begin his search. His gut did not deceive him because the effeminate hotel manager definitely remembered Caffrey. “Yes,” Peter agreed, “I know his _‘good looks are striking’_ and it’s very fortunate that’s why you remembered him so vividly,” Peter parroted the man. “Now, can we please access his room!”

      “Is he dangerous?” asked the manager almost eagerly as Peter pulled his gun from its holster in front of the door. Peter re-assured the man that had not been the case thus far, but instead of allaying the man’s apprehension, the guy almost looked disappointed. The agent could only assume that the manager was turned on by “bad boys.”

      Once inside the room, it was obvious that its occupant was out for the night. Peter knew that he had just missed the slippery conman because the towels were still damp in the bathroom and the bed remained warm from Caffrey’s body heat. He could still smell the faint musky scent of the guy’s soap or cologne. It was a disappointing letdown, but he could be patient. Peter Burke decided to lay in wait for his prey after threatening the manager with aiding and abetting a fugitive if he tipped Caffrey off.

      After searching the room thoroughly for anything of interest, he came up empty and settled himself onto the bed much as the conman must have done not too long ago. As the late night hours turned into the faint streaks of early morning and Caffrey’s scent had begun to dissipate, Peter knew that he had been made and Caffrey was not coming back. So where would he go, Peter mused, and how would he get there?

 ******************

      Neal knew that Burke would have people staked out at the airport and at every train and bus station throughout the city. Walking around to the back of the hotel, he began looking for some type of vehicle that he could hotwire. Indiana wasn’t that far away, but he decided to try taking back roads north instead through the remainder of Kentucky until he reached Ohio or West Virginia. Once there, he could change vehicles and continue his trek through northern Pennsylvania and, ultimately, back to New York City. He knew that he should be looking for something nondescript, perhaps belonging to the hotel staff, that was parked on the street behind the hotel. However, the garage had more of a selection to choose from, even if the vehicles were high end, and he could take his time because the garage afforded some privacy from prying eyes.

      Neal knew he was probably an impulsive fool, but the sleek lines of an Italian Ducati motorcycle caught his eye. He waged a mental war with himself and justified his choice by thinking the owner wouldn’t be using this means of transportation to go to the racecourse at Churchill Downs. He would most likely be in a mint julep-fueled limo with like-minded, well-heeled friends. The motorcycle probably wouldn’t be reported missing for a few days at least. Or so he hoped. Shucking his jacket and tie into a dumpster, Neal rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, fired up the powerful engine and roared off.

 *******************

      Clever minds were in sync. Peter Burke knew that Neal Caffrey liked to think out of the box and wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t travel any of the logical escape routes. He would take _the road less traveled_ , as the poet Robert Frost once penned. Peter purchased several local and tri-state area maps and make an educated guess that Caffrey would travel north through the state until he reached either Ohio or West Virginia. Therefore, the agent pointed his car in that direction and hoped that he wasn’t giving Caffrey too much credit or over-thinking himself.

 *******************

      After traveling for hours on two-lane roads that meandered throughout the countryside, Neal was stiff, tired and beyond annoyed with picking bugs out of his hair. The road had stopped being blacktop and had disintegrated into more of a dirt lane. He had initially tried to steer the motorcycle due north, but the twisting and turning left him confused after the sun had set. Moreover, he was dangerously low on fuel since there were no gas stations or convenience stores in the “Outback” of Kentucky.

      Just when he thought he would have to start walking, he spied a clearing up ahead that sported a huge tent with chairs aligned beneath the canopy. Beside it was a small structure, not big enough to warrant calling it a barn, but more like an over-sized shed. There were only two vehicles present -- a mid-sized motor home that looked old and dusty, and a likewise world-weary paneled box truck.

      Neal coasted to a stop and was met by a large bear of a man with a florid face, and grizzled beard. Behind him was a younger man, who was no less intimidating. The young conman put on his best smile and introduced himself to the two men as Michael Adams, which was the name on the driver’s license that he carried. He asked if they knew the closest place to get gasoline and perhaps a sandwich.

      “Well, you’re certainly turned around if you think that you are anywhere near those particular amenities,” said the older of the two men who had made Neal aware that he was Reverend Jeb Barlowe. He went on to explain that he and his son, Jeb Junior, were spreading the good word throughout the poorer parts of Appalachia, and this was the current prayer meeting site for their proselytizing.

      “Now what is such a nice young man in such fine clothes doing all the way out here in the boondocks, and in possession of such an extravagant as well as impractical means of transportation?” The Reverend seemed benignly curious, but his son looked less benevolent, almost hostile.

      Neal thought quickly and said, “Well, I’m a sophomore at the University of Kentucky.” (Surely, there was a University of Kentucky, but Neal had no idea where it might be in the big state). “And there was this wild frat party where I pissed off some girl’s boyfriend when I hit on her. My best option was to get out of there fast and just keep going.” Neal hoped this explanation might fly.

      The Reverend smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, I guess boys will be boys,” he said as he put his arm around Neal’s shoulders, “but the Good Lord surely expects more Christian-like behavior from one of His flock. There’s gonna be a prayer meeting later tonight, so Junior and I would be mighty pleased if you stuck around to make your peace with the Lord. Maybe afterwards one of the faithful can give you a ride to a filling station and you can get on your way. Right now, how about a cup of coffee and that sandwich you were asking about?”

      “Sounds like a plan,” Neal agreed, although he had a vague feeling of unease, especially about Junior.

      Neal was starving, so he wolfed down a cheese and tomato sandwich, but found that the coffee was too weak for his liking. Surreptitiously, so as not to offend his hosts, he poured it into the grass at his feet after only a few sips. It was not long after that he began to feel funny…fuzzy and dizzy, and he immediately connected the dots to the coffee. They had drugged him! Listing to the side, and unable to brace himself for the descent to the ground, he felt Junior approach and manhandle him over a shoulder.

      Neal wasn’t completely out, most likely because he hadn’t gotten the full dose of whatever they had put into his coffee, but he thought it prudent to pretend, just so that he might get some idea what was going on with these two. He must have lost some time, however, because his next coherent image was when he realized he was now in the shed and his hands were secured behind him with some sort of rope. He could hear father and son discussing him.

      “I’m not buying that story about being a college boy,” the Reverend remarked. “He had over $2,000 in cash on him. Now what kind of college kid walks around with that much cash at a frat party?”

      “Do you think he’s DEA?” Junior asked his father.

      “It’s definitely a possibility if the Feds managed to put somebody in a bind, and that somebody opened their mouth about what we’re moving. For now, we’re just going to keep him under wraps until we can talk to the boss in Lexington and figure out what to do with him,” the Reverend concluded.

      As his mind cleared, Neal put the pieces together. The prayer meetings were mobile, moving from place to place throughout the off-the-beaten-track portions of Appalachia. The reverend had a sweet little side job moving drugs throughout the Bible Belt, either picking up or distributing along the way. He was working for someone else higher up the food chain, so he seemed to be just one cog in a finely tuned machine. Neal was gratified that the guy did not have the ultimate say of what happened to a suspected federal agent. That would buy Neal some time to formulate an escape.

      For the next two days, they kept Neal hidden in the shed, only left unbound for short periods of the day for bathroom needs and meal breaks. They brought him food and bottles of water, but the bottles had already been opened, so he had no doubt that they had been tampered with again. Neal dumped their contents in a corner of the shed, but he knew he was getting dangerously dehydrated. When they came to check on him periodically, he feigned being asleep. Eventually Junior saw the wet spot and figured it out. That day, he proceeded to restrain Neal, occlude his nose, and force fluid down his parched throat. After that, it was lights out for a while. Late into the afternoon of the second day, Neal was unaware that he had been joined by a fellow prisoner in handcuffs, not drugged but very much alert, and royally pissed off, especially when he spied Neal.

 ********************

      Peter Burke needed to punch somebody, and he would have if he wasn’t now restrained with his own damn handcuffs. He would have shot somebody if he was in possession of his gun, but he didn’t have that option either. He was just plain furious! Earlier, when he had come upon the tent revival site, he had gotten out of his car, identified himself as an FBI agent, and flashed Neal’s photo at the older man who stood before him. Suddenly, in the center of his back, he felt what most assuredly was a gun barrel being applied with considerable pressure. Somehow, they had gotten the mistaken impression that he and Caffrey were partners, and that Peter had come looking for him when he went missing.

      Well, Caffrey was no longer missing. He was just five feet away from Peter, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and passed out cold. It turned Peter’s stomach when the younger of the two thugs had shoved Peter into this shed, then proceeded to lean over the unconscious conman and run his hand along Caffrey’s inner thigh to his groin. The disgusting groping was interrupted when the older of the two men came in and told his son that there would be time for fun later. Now he was needed to drive to Lexington and meet with the suppliers.

      Peter got the picture now. These men were running drugs. Caffrey had most likely inadvertently gotten himself into this mess when they suspected that he was sent by the authorities to investigate. Right now, he didn’t look hurt, just definitely unconscious. He hadn’t even flinched when that pervert was fondling him. Peter mulled other things over in his mind. He wouldn’t be considered missing by the Bureau for a while. He had told them that he was going off the grid to follow up a lead on Caffrey. “Going off the grid” was certainly an understatement. Not only didn’t he have his cell phone anymore, but even if he still had it, service was unlikely out here in the wilds of the Kentucky hills. His musings were interrupted when the young conman started to stir.

 ************

         Neal’s world slowly swam back into focus. He pushed himself awkwardly into a seated position and tried to ignore the pounding headache behind his eyes. Then he began to wonder if he was hallucinating from the effects of the sedation because it looked as if Special Agent Peter Burke was staring at him. Burke’s focus was so intense that, for a second, Neal felt surreal, like he was a specimen on a lab slide. Eventually, the agent broke the silence.

      “Welcome back to the land of the living, Caffrey,” was the snide remark.

       When the young man didn’t answer but continued to stare uncomprehendingly, Peter asked, “Did they knock you unconscious?” Now Peter suspected a head injury of some sort.

      “It was the water,” was the confusing answer.

      The kid was making no sense and Peter began to be concerned. “What water?”

      “Don’t drink the water that they bring you. It’s drugged,” was the more rational reply from the conman.

      “I doubt that they’ll be offering me water,” Peter began. “More than likely they’ll be bringing a gun to get rid of me as well as you now. They know that I’m an FBI agent and they think that you’re one too.”

      “Well, that’s really wonderful,” Neal said sarcastically. “First I was supposed to be DEA, now I’m FBI. All that’s left is the CIA and NSA and we’ll have the whole smorgasbord of federal acronyms represented.”

      “I’m surmising that the set up here is really about drug running rather than a ‘Come to Jesus’ revival,” remarked Peter.

      “I guess that’s why they call you ‘Special’ Agent Peter Burke…so quick on the uptake,” sneered Neal.

     “Yeah, well if you’re so clever and brilliant, then tell me why you’re tied up and I’m wearing my own handcuffs.” Peter just was not in the mood to match wits with this punk right now.

      Neal instantly perked up. “You’re in handcuffs? I can pick them if we can find something made of thin, straight metal in this shed! There’s got to be a nail or something that I can use.” He immediately struggled to his feet and started looking along the walls and on the floor for protruding hardware. The shack was just about falling down, so he quickly found what he needed.

      “Your hands are tied behind your back, Caffrey. Are you a contortionist or are you intending to channel Houdini?” Peter was frustrated.

      “Just turn around so that we’re back to back,” Neal demanded. Then it was only a matter of a few seconds before the manacles clattered to the floor from Peter’s wrists.

      “Now you can untie me,” urged the young man. Peter was still amazed at how easily Neal had opened those cuffs, so he just stared.

      Neal’s eyes grew wide and beseeching. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you Agent Burke?”

      That was enough to jolt Peter out of his daze.

      “No way,” Peter answered. “I’d never be able to get that scene from ‘Deliverance’ out of my head if I left you here.”

      Neal cocked his head quizzically at the agent, who quickly untied the young man but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he warned in a stern voice, “This is only a temporary alliance, Caffrey. You are still going to be my prisoner and in my custody once we get away.”

      “Got it in one,” Neal agreed. “There’s always time to re-negotiate later.”

 ***********

     The shed in which they were being held was literally falling apart in places. Peter and Neal, working in tandem, managed to pry several of the boards away from the back wall. Quickly the two squeezed themselves between the existing slats and were confronted by a dense forest of trees and brush that was all uphill. As quietly as possible, they made their way on foot away from their former prison, but their progress was slow and tedious. Tripping over unseen tree roots and becoming entangled in thorny bushes became the norm. Before long, both were panting and covered in sweat.

      “Do you have any idea where we are, Caffrey,” Peter asked when they finally stopped briefly to rest.

      “Of course I do! We’re trudging through the armpit of Kentucky, near as I can tell,” was the flippant answer he received.

      “I take that to mean that you’re definitely a city boy through and through. Whatever possessed you to make your escape through the wilds of Appalachia instead of taking a more traditional approach, you know, like real roads that appear on maps?” Peter asked in an exasperated tone.

     “And here I was waiting to hear you pontificate that the “long arm of the law” could nab me anywhere that I go,” Neal scoffed.

     “Well, I just did nab you, now didn’t I,” Peter crowed. The two were almost sitting shoulder to shoulder on the forest floor as they talked. Without warning, Peter brought up his clenched hand that was filled with soft dirt and crushed leaves and began to smear the front of Neal’s white shirt.

     Neal startled at the unexpected move and jumped sideway to avoid Peter and his muck. “What are you doing?!!”

     “Caffrey, your white shirt stands out like a beacon in these woods. Whenever our dynamic duo find out that we are missing, they are going to be coming for us with a vengeance that is far from Christian in nature. Let’s not make it easy for them.”

     “Well excuse my social faux pas of not attending this bucolic party in the proper camouflage attire,” Neal huffed.

     Peter just ignored the conman, hauled him back sharply by the arm and continued to soil the rest of the offending white shirt with an over-the-top enthusiasm.

     “I’m not smearing dirt on my face and pretending to be Rambo,” Neal stated emphatically. “That’s where I draw the line!”

      When Peter deemed that Neal was sufficiently filthy, he pulled the conman to his feet and they continued their climb upward. Upon reaching the summit of the hill, they were dismayed to see the way down this side of the mountain looked exactly like what they had just hiked through for hours. The afternoon sun had long descended behind the hills and dusky shades of evening were falling. Both men were bone tired and thirsty and needed to rest for the night. Sitting out in the open really did not seem like a great idea, so they kept an alert eye for anything that would afford them some cover.

      After a quarter of an hour, they came upon a crude structure perched high in the upper branches of a gnarled oak. “Is that a tree house?” Neal asked incredulously.  

      Peter just rolled his eyes to heaven. “No, ‘City Boy,’ that’s a deer stand. Hunters use them when they are lying in wait for foraging game to meander through the woods. They construct them high up so that the shooter has a good vantage point. Scents are strongest closer to the ground, especially after a heavy dew in the morning, so the animals can’t readily detect their presence,” Peter explained.

      Neal gave Peter an unfathomable look. “Wow! You’re like Daniel Boone or something. I’ll just bet you were a decorated Eagle Scout back in the day.”

      “It will be a good place to spend the night,” Peter answered, ignoring Neal’s sarcasm. He then looked around and found a couple of substantial tree limbs on the ground that were a few feet in length. He handed one to Neal. “These will have to do as defensive weapons. While we’re sitting in our sniper’s nest, we’ll have the advantage of surprise. Anyone climbing up the rungs to check out the stand will have both hands occupied and won’t be able to come at us with a gun or a knife in their fist.”

      Peter then indicated that Neal should precede him up the makeshift wooden ladder nailed into the tree. There was no way that he was letting the conman get behind him. When they reached the top, they found that the platform was constructed of raw planks, and had just enough room to accommodate both of them. It was a tight fit, with the two men almost shoulder to shoulder.

      “Do you still have that nail that you used to pick the handcuffs,” Peter asked.

      “Yep,” Neal confirmed. “You might be the Eagle Scout but I can be a Boy Scout, too. I know about being prepared.”

      “Hand it over,” Peter ordered. His key to the cuffs had been taken by the sleazy reverend’s son along with Peter’s wallet, watch and cell phone.

      “Why?” Neal wanted to know.

      “Just do it!” Peter demanded as he held out his hand palm up.

      Neal complied by reaching into his pocket and proffering the nail. While his hand was extended, Peter quickly snapped on one side of the handcuffs. He then proceeded to put the nail in his own pocket and to fasten the open end of the cuffs to his own left wrist. Neal’s face registered shock and that made Peter’s day just a tiny bit better. “Just making sure that you don’t decide to wander off during the night. In the morning you can exhibit your talent again and pick them open.”

      For once Neal did not have a smart comeback. He simply blew out an exasperated breath and leaned back against the wall of the structure. The night air continued to chill. Even though it was May, the foothills were cold as dusk turned into night. Both men were exhausted, and Neal’s breathing evened out into sleep within minutes. Most likely, his body still harbored some residual sedation. Before Peter managed to doze off, he felt the young conman move closer to him, no doubt drawn by the agent’s body heat. Who would have envisioned a federal agent cozying up to one of the felons on the FBI’s Most Wanted list!

 ************

      Both men awakened to the first faint streaks of dawn. Peter handed over the nail and Neal did his thing, then they climbed cautiously down from their perch. Peter turned away to take care of business behind a tree, but he noted the Neal hadn’t done the same. The young conman was becoming dehydrated.

      “We’re going to start down the hill this morning and our first priority is to find water,” Peter declared.

      “I doubt there are any water fountains in the middle of this forest,” Neal quipped sarcastically.

      “Just start walking, City Boy, without any smart-mouthed remarks, if that’s possible. Going downhill should be easier. Just try not to trip over any boulders.”

      It took a lot less effort going down the mountain. Peter noted that the vegetation was getting greener, so he postulated that meant there must be ground water. Ground water percolated under the earth seeking a larger body of water, or so Peter hoped. He was deep in thought when suddenly Caffrey ran straight at him and landed a full body check. Peter found himself on his back with the younger man on top of him. He remedied that immediately by flipping the slighter man over and pinning him to the ground.

      “What the hell, Caffrey?” Peter breathed into Neal’s face.

      Neal inclined his head to the side and mouthed the word “snake” just as Peter spied the ominous timber rattler slither lethargically from beneath the rock where he was about to step. Reptiles were cold-blooded creatures, so they moved sluggishly until they could lay in the sun and warm up from the cold night air. Caffrey’s lunge and the slow response by the snake definitely saved Peter from a poisonous bite.

      Peter was literally right in Neal’s face, so it was not hard to see the sunken eyes, flushed cheeks and the rapid bounding pulse in his neck……all signs of dangerously increasing dehydration. The reverend and his son had held Caffrey for two days. Hadn’t they given him any water? Maybe they thought it easier to keep him drugged so he wouldn’t cause them any trouble.

      “Come on, Indiana Jones, let’s keep moving,” Peter said as he got to his feet and helped Neal to stand.

      The young man swayed a bit when erect, but that didn’t stop him from a retort. “Just to clarify the point, Agent Burke, Indiana Jones hated snakes!”

      To his credit, Neal pushed on without complaint. He didn’t appear disoriented yet, but he was definitely moving a lot slower than yesterday. Peter could only hope that they would find water before the need became critical for Caffrey.

 ***********

      The hours dragged on and so did Peter and Neal. There was little conversation between the two of them; they simply put one foot in front of the other doggedly like soldiers on a forced march. When Neal started to deviate from the path and stumble blindly off to the side, it was Peter who snagged his arm and straightened him out. Peter knew that the young man was becoming confused, and Peter wondered if Neal even knew who Peter was at this point. He had stopped speaking a while ago, but thankfully was pliant enough whenever Peter had to re-direct him. Peter had so very much wanted to have this criminal within his grasp, but he never wanted it to happen this way. In the back of his mind, he had visions of Caffrey dying in this God-forsaken place. Peter was determined that was just not going to happen on his watch. If it meant that he had to carry the kid, that’s just what he would do! Finally, at the base of the hill, Peter could swear that he heard the sound of rushing water not far off. He parked Neal in the shade of a massive tree with the perhaps unnecessary admonition to stay put. It was clear that Neal had reached the end of his endurance and was not capable of going anywhere.

      A short distance away, Peter said a silent prayer of thanks when he came upon a rushing stream whose water cascaded over a rock-strewn riverbed. He drank his fill of the exceedingly cold mountain water, and then returned to Neal. He had trouble rousing the man and had to hoist the boneless conman over his shoulder to carry him to their salvation. He lay Neal down next to the shallow edge of the brook and began pouring water from his cupped hand over the young man’s face. When Neal startled to life, Peter turned him over, held his head and commanded, “Drink, boy!”

     After initial sputtering, Neal gulped greedily until Peter pulled him away. “Just a bit at first. Let the water empty from your stomach or you’ll wind up retching it all back up,” Peter noted sagely.

      So, for the better part of an hour, both men drank slowly and eventually rehydrated themselves. Between bouts of drinking and resting in the sun, Peter noticed that Neal’s face had taken on the first pink tinge of sunburn. “With your dark hair, I wouldn’t have expected your skin to be so fair,” Peter noted curiously.

      “Black Irish heritage,” was all Neal said.

      After another few minutes, perhaps emulating an Irish ancestor with the fabled “gift of gab,” the conman looked steadily at Peter and started his spiel. “Agent Burke, I’m just going to hold you back. Go on without me and save yourself. If you can find help nearby, you can always come back to get me, or at least find my body since I may have succumbed to cholera, typhoid fever or a giardia infection from whatever is in that water I’ve been drinking.”

      Peter just raised an eyebrow. “Nice try, City Boy, but we’re in this together. You do remember that you’re my prisoner, right? Look, we’ll take a break to rest up and then we’ll start following this stream so we have a readily available source of water. Eventually, we’re bound to come to some kind of civilization.”

     “What were you before becoming an FBI agent…some kind of Marine Drill Sergeant?” Neal wanted to know. Peter just smiled enigmatically.

**********

      Later that day, the pair thought that what they spied was a mirage, like dying men seeing an oasis in a desert. Before them was a tiny clapboard house with a sagging front porch. Off to the side was a small barn with a chicken-wire enclosure in front. Not surprisingly, the fenced in yard contained chickens, clucking away in the mud and pecking scattered corn from the ground. Peter began to step forward with Neal in tow when the engine of a vehicle was heard. Suddenly the dirt road leading up to the house was filled with an oncoming four-wheeler driven by none other than Jeb Junior, the preacher’s son. He was met and apparently welcomed by the house’s occupant, as evidenced by enthusiastic back thumps and vigorous fist bumps. A conversation ensued that no doubt centered on Peter and Neal, with the homeowner nodding in the affirmative. So much for that avenue of rescue, Peter thought morosely.  

     “Maybe Junior is just being a ‘good ole boy’ and inviting the guy to tonight’s prayer service,” Neal quipped hopefully.

     Peter gave his companion a sardonic look, and Neal responded, “Yeah, that’s pretty much wishful thinking.” Then he continued, “Do you see any kind of vehicle, Agent Burke? We could wait until dark and then I could hotwire whatever this guy owns and we could make tracks out of here. You did take notice that I used the term ‘we,’ as in ‘the two of us.’ So, see, I’m beginning to think like a team player.”

     “The only thing that I see is that rusted Chevy up on blocks,” noted Peter, completely ignoring Neal’s reference to camaraderie.

     Stealthily, the two then made their way to the inside of the barn and then up into the hayloft to re-group and formulate a plan. Neal sat down in the straw, blew a chicken feather out of his face, and looked at Peter questioningly. “What happens when morning comes and this guy has a yen for an omelet or decides that he wants chicken ‘McNuggets’ for lunch?”

     “Let’s worry about that if it happens,” Peter stated firmly. “We’ll stay here for the time being. Eventually, maybe he’ll have to leave for some reason and we’ll do reconnaissance then.”

 ************

      For the next twenty-four hours, Peter and Neal had to endure their little camping out party in the hayloft, flattening themselves onto the floor of their roost when the homeowner did come inside briefly. At night, they returned to the stream for water, since neither was willing to drink from the troughs that stood in the pen. Very early in the morning, they arose to rob the chickens of their newly laid eggs. They had no choice but to down them raw. Neal complained that he felt as if he was channeling “Rocky” when he was training for his bout with Apollo Creed.

      Serendipitously, the following afternoon an old pickup truck came to fetch the homesteader, and he roared off in a cloud of dust down the road. Peter and Neal were immediately at his front door after the sounds of the engine could no longer be heard. Of course, the front door was securely locked, and Peter asked Neal if he could pick the lock with the nail that he held out to him. Neal just raised his eyebrows incredulously, picked up a rock from the garden, and hefted it through the front window.

      “Hypothetically, I can be an expedient and proficient cat burglar, Agent Burke, but right now I’m starving, so just deduct some points for style.”

      After that announcement, Neal went through the broken window in search of the kitchen. Eventually, Peter followed and found him sitting on the floor in a crude little pantry. He had a jar of peanut butter in his hand and was scooping out gobs with his fingers. Peter found some mystery meat in the old Frigidaire and availed himself of that. Finally, the two sat side by side and polished off a bag of potato chips and a box of chocolate chip cookies. They even had the luxury of drinking water from the tap in an actual glass.

      “The piece de resistance right now would be a shower,” Neal stated unequivocally. With that being said, he disappeared into the bathroom and Peter heard faucets being turned. Peter shook his head disbelievingly, but eventually yielded to the temptation and yelled, “Don’t use up all the hot water!”

      Peter put his own filthy clothes back on afterwards, but Neal was having none of that. His once-white shirt was caked with dry mud and so stiff that it could almost stand by itself. He “borrowed” a tattered sweatshirt that looked halfway clean in the bedroom closet. It was at least two sizes too large for him so that he looked like somebody’s kid brother dressing in hand-me-down clothes. As nutritionally fortified as they were ever going to be, the pair again set out on their trek, but this time they stayed on the dirt road. Hopefully, anyone that they ran into wouldn’t be a hostile entity. Peter reasoned that this whole county couldn’t be in league with the drug runners.

      Towards dusk, they saw the headlights of a vehicle approaching. They looked at one another and both had the same question uppermost in their minds…do we or don’t we take the risk? Desperation won out over paranoia, so they intrepidly flagged down the motorist who just happened to be a young girl in an old rusted Ford Fairlane. (Did they even make that model anymore?)

      Now in any big city, a young girl alone would never throw caution to the wind and stop for two bedraggled-looking bums on an isolated back road. But this undoubtedly was far from the big city, so she put on the brakes and came to a stop beside the sad looking pair.

      “Looks like you fellas need a lift,” she chirped. “You definitely don’t want to be out here on this dark road at night. Somebody might not see you and smash you flat,” she said merrily in a charming Southern drawl.

      Peter and Neal didn’t need a second invitation and scrambled into the car. She asked where they were headed rather than asking why they were taking a rural constitutional. “What’s the closest town?” asked Peter.

      “That would be Utica, just down the road about thirty miles,” she answered. “Not much of a town, just about 500 residents at best, but it’s got a post office with a zip code and everything, a fire station, a gas station, a bunch of churches and a general store called JR’s Market. You want me to drop you there? It’s on my way.”

      “Are we still in Kentucky?” Peter asked her.

      She gave him a confused glance and confirmed that they were.

      “How far are we from Louisville?” was his next query.

      “Oh, maybe about 120 miles or so,” she answered as Peter groaned.

       Neal wisely kept his counsel, although he did favor the young woman with his dazzling conman smile, and joined her in singing the pop songs that were blaring from the radio. As they drove along hitting potholes that the car’s suspension was never meant to endure, Peter began to experience some definite gastric distress that grew in intensity with each passing moment. Whatever he had eaten from the refrigerator earlier in the day was making its presence known with a vengeance. Acid reflux, queasiness, and stabbing pain eventually turned into a state of emergency, and he abruptly ordered the young woman to pull over! He then bolted from the car and headed for the privacy of the dense thicket to rid himself of the “mystery meat.” After a long and debilitating twenty minutes, nothing was left in his stomach and Peter made his way back to the waiting car on wobbly legs.

      “Are you okay?” Caffrey and the girl asked in unison.

      “Yeah. I’ll live,” was his terse answer.

      Less than twenty minutes after that, their Good Samaritan deposited Peter and Neal in front of a tiny rural town’s post office, and continued on her way with a wave, like an apparition that both men thought that they may have dreamed up. Peter reasoned that either the post office or the general store would have a landline phone that he could use to call the local branch of the FBI and get some assistance. He had a wanted criminal in tow, after all, who now needed to be restrained. As he felt in his back pocket for his handcuffs, he came up empty. Turning around, he saw Caffrey dangling them from an index finger, a huge grin on his face.

      “Looking for these?” he inquired politely.

      “Caffrey…” Peter began menacingly.

     But before he could say another word, the Ford Fairlane came screeching around the corner after apparently circling the block. Neal dove through the window as it barely slowed down, and he disappeared into the night as the ancient car sped away. Peter hurried to the post office to get to a phone but found it locked up tight as it had been since 5 PM, or so the sign informed him. Peter sat down hard on the front steps. Apparently, Caffrey had put those twenty minutes of Peter’s distressed absence to good use. He idly wondered what outlandish yarn the conman had spun to enlist aiding and abetting on the girl’s part. Peter would probably never know.

 ************

      When Peter finally made it to the FBI Field Office in Louisville, he spent hours filling out a detailed report of what he knew of the Reverend Jeb Barlowe and his son and their sideline. He postulated from bits of hearsay information that the operation was most likely being funded by a headman located in Lexington. The traveling revival show was simply the rural pipeline. The local feds could sort that out for themselves. However, kidnapping a federal agent was pretty serious stuff, so perhaps the Kentucky agents could use that as leverage to get the Barlowes to reveal a few names in the drug hierarchy.

      Then he had to fill out a report enumerating a list of stolen items that included a rental car, his service revolver, his wallet, his watch, his cell phone, his FBI credentials, and lastly, his handcuffs. His “to do” list went on and on concluding with an explanation of why he was out of his own territory when all this occurred. He simply stated in his account that he had come to Louisville on a hunch that a White Collar criminal that he had a particular interest in apprehending was reported to have been in the area. Peter refused to elaborate any further, and Neal Caffrey’s name was never entered into the report.

      Peter rationalized his decision to leave out certain details because it was really just too damn embarrassing!!

 ************

      Meanwhile, back in his loft in New York, Neal concluded the rather long and convoluted tale to a spellbound Mozzie. During the narrative, the diminutive dynamo was too enthralled to interrupt, which was a miracle, in Neal’s opinion. Now the skeptical little man was waging a war with himself. He wanted to believe every word of the story, but…it was just so unbelievable!

     “Neal, as your ‘lawyer’ I am in possession of every file the FBI has on you. If there was a scrap of notebook paper upon which someone merely doodled your name, I have it. There are boxes and boxes of the stuff in my safe house, and I have gone through them from time to time when I needed an entertaining diversion. Of course, reviewing the information is unnecessary because, as you well know, with my eidetic memory, I am incapable of forgetting anything that I read.

     Nowhere,’ and I repeat, ‘nowhere’ is there a file that exists containing the saga that you have just shared with me. Back then, ‘By the Book Burke’ would have definitely created a report, but if the Suit filed that report, somehow it was buried, misfiled, or destroyed.”

      Neal just looked at Mozzie with a slight smile on his face.

      Comprehension dawned on Mozzie. He wanted to dismiss it out of hand as simply inconceivable, but if he had to be honest, he’d seen stranger phenomenon in his life.

      “He never wrote a report that featured you and your antics, did he?” Mozzie mused.

      “Oh, I don’t doubt that he wrote and filed a report,” began Neal, “but I would imagine that it was very subjectively edited. I mean, would you want to commit to paper that you had tracked down a criminal on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, then hiked with him through a forest, slept next to him, ate next to him, even shared the same shower soap, but ultimately lost him because of an upset stomach?”

       Mozzie was perversely curious. “Have you ever discussed the episode with him, I mean, since you have been working alongside of him now?

      “Actually, it’s never come up,” Neal replied honestly.

      Suddenly Neal realized where this was going. “Moz…,” he warned sternly when he saw the maniacal light flash in Mozzie’s eyes.

      “Oh, all right! I promise that I won’t utilize any nuggets of this priceless information, Neal,” Mozzie finally conceded grudgingly.

      “But you have to admit," he added, "it’s just too damn precious!!!”

 

That's All Folks!

 


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